


Sleeping Arrangements

by stelleri



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, mild period typical homophobia, no plot here just dudes being soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 20:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleri/pseuds/stelleri
Summary: Winter 1847. Snapshots of a reunited couple on Erebus.





	Sleeping Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> a longer version of my fill for the prompt: 'Peglar basically comes right out and SAYS he seized the opportunity to berth on John's ship so they could be together more. I want to see them hooking up every minute they can spare and both just giddy that they're on a ship together again. Any rating.'
> 
> I haven't written anything in, uh, probably a decade, so this might be rough. also it's not really addressed in the fic, but if simmons can shove them both onto the beagle so he can infodump and just generally be Like That, then I can nudge at things like that age gap and put bridgens on both the gannett and wanderer.

Harry doesn’t bother joining the knot of Terrors arguing over sleeping arrangements when he arrives on Erebus. He peels off instead, chest tight in anticipation, moves as quickly as he can so he can try to steal a moment with John before the normalcy of ship life can be enforced again. 

He’s lucky enough to find him alone, in a quieter part of the ship, a welcoming smile spreading across his dear face as soon as he sees Harry. There’s no one to see them embrace tightly, no one to see their lingering kiss. It’s nowhere near perfect - Harry’s hands are freezing and his beard is full of ice, while John grows tense at the sound of distant footsteps - but after so many months apart, the feel of John’s arms around him, his mouth on his, is like a sudden summer melt. 

* * *

“You’re not serious,” John protests, somewhere between exasperation and awe at the sheer _gall_.  

“Of course I am,” Harry laughs. He’s got one hand spread across John’s chest and the other at his elbow, gently urging John towards a shadowed nook. It won’t hide them much if anyone comes down the hall, and it certainly won’t save them from an officer’s wrath if John’s found kissing Harry Peglar instead of fetching more drinks, but, well. John’s always been powerless to resist when Harry looks at him like that, focused and intent as though John is the only thing that matters in the world. Besides, a moment’s delay in his duties might be the least of his problems right now. 

“I don’t see how you’ll manage to move into my berth without comment, Harry, but–” Harry loses some of his grinning defiance at the look on John’s face. He glances around quickly before moving closer to press a whisper of a kiss to John’s jaw. 

“The officers are too busy to care unless we cause trouble, if they even believe you’d do anything with me in the first place. We're not the only ones paired up after this long, so most crew won’t care either,” Harry says, low and serious. “If we’ve got a chance for decent privacy, we shouldn’t waste it. We’re about as safe now as we’ll ever be outside of London, John, and if – we shouldn’t waste it.” 

The biggest problem, of course, is that Harry’s never liked the necessary secrecy of their relationship; he’d happily kiss John in front of the captains and the Admiralty and the entire city of London if he could. John loves him for it, the way Harry can be so open and honest while John needs to wrap his affections in metaphor and literature, even as the thought of being caught fills him with creeping dread. 

The rumours help, at least. They’ve been carefully cultivated by decades of sailing and the help of other men like him; as much as he hates that most captains and officers are aware that John Bridgens is a _known sodomite_ , if the same rumours insist that he keeps his interests strictly shorebound, he can gain a certain level of freedom from prying eyes. It had certainly helped them on the  _Wanderer_ , when their friendship was long secure but their relationship still new. 

“John,” Harry repeats, barely a breath of a word. “Don’t worry.” They’re close enough that Harry’s pressing him back into the wall, just a little, and his hand feels warm and heavy as a brand against John’s chest. John sighs in defeat and finally brings his arms around Harry properly, holds him close so that Harry is all he can see. Harry relaxes instantly, the stubborn set to his mouth melting into his usual bright grin. 

“You know I can’t help it,” John murmurs against Harry’s lips, muffling his quiet laughter. By now he must be inexcusably late returning to the wardroom; another minute longer can’t hurt.

* * *

“Mr. Bridgens?” A quiet, polite rap at the door.  

John startles and tenses, half-awake under the warmth and weight of Harry’s body. Harry lets out a breath of a groan, somewhere between a complaint and a question, but relaxes when John smooths a hand down his back. 

“Yes, Mr. Collins?” John calls. He is very aware of the hand that Harry has wormed under his shirt in the night, his fingers twitching at John’s voice and making him shiver, and the way Harry’s legs are slotted between his. Harry shifts again, carefully quiet, and starts pressing sleepy kisses to John’s collarbone. John pinches his side in protest and studiously ignores how Harry grins against his throat. 

“Sorry for waking you, Mr. Bridgens, but there was some sort of incident on  _Terror_  last night. Captain Fitzjames is heading back now.” 

“Of course, Mr. Collins. I’ll see to him." Collins moves away with a vague noise of acknowledgement, and John is guiltily relieved that he sounds so distracted. He's had Harry in his berth for weeks now and they still haven’t been criticized or reprimanded, but it’s particularly hard to ignore old fears when Harry lies half-awake in his arms. 

John soaks in the warmth of their bed for a long moment before he sighs and nudges Harry up. 

“’S early. Captain should’ve stayed on  _Terror_ ,” Harry grumbles, but obligingly shifts over so that most of his weight is against the wall instead of John’s chest. John creaks to his feet and Harry immediately rolls back into the middle of the narrow bed. He curls up, yawning, and leaves only a small gap in the blankets so that he can watch John light a candle and dress. He’s all messy hair and sleepy affection, warm and soft and safe, a vision far more suited to an early London morning – though he’s awake enough to leer, mischievous, when John prods experimentally at the line of bruises Harry had left on his hip the night before. 

Too soon, John blows out the candle and turns to leave. Harry stops him with a hand on his wrist before John can do more than reach out for the door, half sat up in bed and swearing under his breath as their nest of blankets begins to fall from his shoulders. Harry bows his head to press his lips to John’s tattoo, hidden underneath his coat, before drawing him down to kiss him deep and lingering. John cups Harry’s face with both hands and kisses him breathless until he has to pull away, slow and reluctant, drinking in the dazed smile on Harry’s face. 

“It’s still middle watch. I’ll try to be back before we have to get up for the day,” John murmurs. He kisses Harry again, chaste, before he forces himself to pull away and leave the warmth of their cabin.

* * *

“This reminds me of when we first got together,” Harry says. He’s in his hammock, a book balanced on his chest and stocking feet swinging idly off the side. John hums around the pin in his mouth and spares him a quick glance and a raised eyebrow. Harry’s face is serious but his eyes are soft, watching John in the flickering light of his –  _their_ cabin. Heavy footsteps occasionally pass by the cabin door, but it's late enough that their quiet little bubble of comfort feels separate from the rest of the ship. 

“Feels as hard to stay away from you as it was back then. Or worse. Can’t say I like it much,’ Harry says with a wry little smile. It’s a bit of an understatement in more ways than one, John thinks, and they both know it. At least now they have something of a silent language they can use in public, subtle expressions and grazing hands and written notes with double meanings, a language that they’ve grown fluent in over the years. 

Harry has, unsurprisingly, also made a habit of cornering John for a kiss whenever they find a moment alone, and while he’s equally relieved that they’re both on the same ship again, John is doubly thankful that he has his own berth instead of a hammock. Public discretion is always far easier with the promise of future comfort and privacy. 

Still, furtive touches in a tiny steward’s cabin can’t compare to having an apartment of their own, with its relatively anonymity and the solid security of a door that locks. They’ve both been sailing too long to depend very heavily on the comforts of life on land, of course, and are well versed in staying hidden even when there are eyes on them, but this expedition has stretched them both thin. 

“At least we’ve my berth for now, and once we’re back in England we’ll have our privacy again.” _If_ they get back to England. After this latest attack by the thing on the ice, it’s hard to be optimistic. He tries not to think about it, tries to borrow some of Harry’s quiet, secure strength to settle his own doubts. At least Harry seems to have been right about how little the rest of the crew would care or even notice, though John's received a handful of knowing looks from some of the other men who he knows have a shared disposition.

Harry doesn’t answer, his face still too serious, but he reaches out a hand to brush a lock of hair behind John’s ear and sighs when John briefly nuzzles his nose against his wrist. When John finally sets his work aside and blows out the candle, he’s quick to slip out of his hammock and squeeze into John’s bed, silent as a ghost even as he immediately loses his solemnity in favour of burying his cold nose in John’s throat with a grin. 

Harry is warm and solid in his arms, tangling close enough to burrow into his skin. John tightens his grip, presses a kiss to Harry’s head, and sleeps.


End file.
